


the gift

by natlet



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 16:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13011978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natlet/pseuds/natlet
Summary: marcus gets a present





	the gift

**Author's Note:**

> mild au where their super excellent road trip just continues forever and ever and nothing changes and nothing is wrong and everything is _fine_ (please, jeremy slater, _please_ im so _scared_ )

"I have something for you," Tomas says, over dinner, just a little hesitant. 

Marcus gives him a look, snags a cube of cheese out of his salad. "Thought we agreed, no gifts," he says. Christmas this year, they'd decided, would mostly be just another day. Tomas had wanted to find a church and attend Mass, which they'd done; Marcus, still a bit bitter over their Thanksgiving vending machine debacle, had been more concerned with remembering to pick up food and supplies the day before, which they'd also done. And they had absolutely, most definitely agreed that they would not be getting each other any gifts - which, apparently, only Marcus had done. 

"Well, then, don't think of it as a gift," Tomas says. "Think of it as a replacement." 

"A replacement? For what?" 

"Open it," Tomas says, setting a little brown paper parcel on the bedspread between them. "You'll see." 

Under the paper, a little padded box, like the kind that holds jewelry; a rosary, maybe, Marcus thinks. He's been borrowing Tomas', and he'd thought it was alright, but - possibly it isn't. He'll apologize, he decides, and thank Tomas, and be very careful to ask before using any of Tomas' things again, though he'd thought they were close enough by now that it wouldn't matter - 

It isn't a rosary, though. Marcus lifts it carefully out of the box's pillowed interior, coils it in his palm - a thin, supple cord, braided black leather, with a shining silver clasp. 

He isn't entirely sure _what_ to call it. 

"I know that you - always have thought of yourself as an exorcist first, and a priest second," Tomas says. "But I also know that you - when you were excommunicated, and they took your collar from you. You felt that you had lost something." Marcus looks at him - maybe a little sharply - and Tomas looks away. "I thought that maybe I could help you get some of it back." 

It's. "A collar," Marcus says, and something curls tight and hot and surprisingly pleased in his chest. "You bought me a collar." 

"I'm sorry," Tomas whispers. "I'm - sorry. It was a stupid idea, I'm sorry, I should never have - " 

He reaches for it, like he's going to take it back, and without thinking Marcus snatches his hand away. "Who said it was a stupid idea?" he says - his voice comes out much thinner than he's expecting, but at least it comes out. He can feel his heartbeat in the back of his own skull. He can feel every place Tomas has ever touched him.

"You don't - seem to like it." 

"Well, I'm just not sure I understand it." Tomas' hand safely back in his own lap, Marcus uncurls his fingers and looks closer. It's very subtle. He doesn't _dis_ like it, of that much he's certain. "Tell me more, sweetheart. What did you think you would help me get back?" 

Tomas shrugs. He still won't meet Marcus' eyes. "A - connection, to something," he says, very soft. "A - sense of belonging to something. Something you could feel, to - ground you. Center you. To remind you that you are loved, and that you are not alone." He pauses, glances quickly up at Marcus, then away again. "That you have me." 

"Oh," Marcus says, faintly. 

"I was wrong," Tomas says. "It was wrong of me, Marcus. I'm sorry." 

"Don't be," Marcus says. "Honestly, I think I rather like it." 

"I - you do?" 

"Yeah." His fingers are shaking a little, and he fumbles with the delicate clasp for a second before just holding the collar out toward Tomas instead. "Will you help me put it on?" he says, and Tomas takes a sharp breath. 

Marcus tips his head back toward the ceiling as Tomas gets closer, gives him room to work, his touch feather-light and lingering against Marcus’ skin. It's hard to breathe, almost, like he's cut off his own airway, and for a second he wants to tell Tomas to stop, tell him he needs a moment - 

And then he feels the little silver clasp settle cool and solid at the base of his throat. He feels himself start to breathe. He feels himself let go. 

"Oh," Tomas says, his voice just as faint as Marcus' had been. "I - _Marcus._ " 

"Yeah," Marcus hears himself say, "yeah," and then Tomas is kissing him, hard, wet and hot and deep - perfectly familiar and yet not familiar at all because for all the times Tomas has kissed him, he's never kissed him quite like this. He's usually the one to take the lead, and Marcus is always more than happy to let him; it makes a lot of things simpler, and anyway, it's not like they've often disagreed, here. Tomas likes it slow and sweet, except for when he doesn't, and either way Marcus finds he likes it however Tomas does. This kiss is sweet, but not in a way Marcus is used to, not in a way that Marcus has ever thought could be sweet - this kiss is demanding, and desperate, and anything but slow. Tomas is kissing him like he owns him. And Marcus _loves_ it. 

He lets Tomas push him back onto the bed, lets Tomas crawl up over him, hands on Tomas' hips, urging him closer. "You look incredible," Tomas says into his mouth, and Marcus laughs, because _honestly_ \- and Tomas growls, and _bites_ him, hard, and Marcus' voice trails off into a moan. "You do," Tomas says, and kisses his cheek, starts working his way down the side of Marcus' neck. "You look so good, you look whole again, you look - ." He closes his mouth around the clasp, lets it fall back wet and warm into the hollow of Marcus' throat, murmurs - "Mine." 

He's got a habit of that, when they're doing this - of just talking, saying things, nonsense words spilling out like his mouth's gotten away from him and it's speaking without checking in with his brain first, and usually Marcus will stop him, ask him to clarify, because even when Tomas is talking nonsense it's always nonsense Marcus wants to understand - but this time, he thinks he doesn't need to. He thinks maybe he's understood this part for a while, now. "Yours," he agrees, and lets Tomas have him.

**Author's Note:**

> ways i have traumatized my world of warcraft guild: "hey guys, how many different uses can you think of for the word 'collar'? HAHA WRONG." 
> 
> (jackie is in bed if theres anything wrong in here its entirely my fault and pls let me know and ill fix it in the morning i swear)


End file.
